I am not gonna cry.
I am. Not. Going. To. Cry.
Sniffling, I nod. I am genuinely surprised, but not in a bad way. The now familiar ache in my chest blooms, crests, overflows, and I’m left choking on a jumble of feelings and emotions I’m just now recognizing for what they truly are.
Affection. Adoration.
Soul-altering love.
Lost for words, I wrap my arms around his back, pulling him toward me and pressing my face against his suit jacket. His arms come around me, supporting me more than he likely realizes, his head lowering until his lips press against my neck.
“We don’t have to stay,” he murmurs into my ear. “Once the alcohol starts flowing, no one will even notice if we sneak off.”
“We can stay as long as you want,” I respond quickly, not wanting him to rush out of here just because he’s worried about me. He has every right to want a party, even if I have an aversion to them.
This must be part of that compromise thing everyone’s always going on about. Smiling, I step back, fixing the lapels of his jacket, as I search for something to say. He’s watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes, so I pat him on the chest and mutter, “I have to pee.”
Not waiting for a response, I turn tail and hustle back the way we came, certain I saw a bathroom sign somewhere that way. I wasn’t lying; I do have to pee, but the timing of it likely seems suspicious to him.
I get my business done in record time, taking a moment to smooth my dress and my hair before returning to the party. I locate Ren on the far side, deep in conversation with his parents.
Shit. His parents.
Not wanting to intrude on a private conversation, I scan the room for a familiar face, immediately relieved when I locate Issa at a table not far from where Ren is standing. I head directly toward her, so intent on making it from point A to point B, Idon’t notice Ren has moved until he steps in front of me. I stop just short of barreling into him, and then do my best to make my face a lot less horrified as I realize his parents are with him.
Ren wraps an arm around me, his eyes searching mine as he asks, “You okay?” to which I just manage a rather frantic nod, pasting on my best interpretation of a warm and inviting smile.
He quirks a brow at me, obviously unsure if he should believe me, but after a moment he presses his palm against my lower back, turns back to his parents and says, “Mom. Dad. May I present to you, Cassidy Rafferty.”
My warm and inviting smile falls, and I whip my attention back to him, scowling. “Don’t forget the Logan.”
Ren’s mother laughs then pats Ren on the arm as she says, “Forcing it won’t make it happen. Just ask your dad.”
I frown as Ren’s dad chuckles, obviously enjoying their little inside joke. “There’s still time left, Sylvie.”
“I did give permission for Rafferty to be on my headstone.”
“That hardly seems appropriate,” Ren responds, a look of horror on his face. Then he turns to me and explains, “Mom never changed her name. And from what I understand, she never will.”
Ren turns his attention back to his parents, giving them his best stern look that doesn’t at all reach his eyes as he says. “You two behave,” he pauses and turns back to me, waving his hand with a flourish, “And may I present to you, Sylvie Weber and Richard Rafferty.”
Smiling, I extend a hand to Richard, feeling awkward as he squeezes, his gaze warm as I say, “This must’ve been a shock for you. Ren turning up married out of the blue.”
Richard shrugs, releases my hand. “Maybe a bit.” He chuckles, his gaze shifting to Ren as he adds, “But Ren always did march to the beat of his own drummer, so why would this be any different.”
“You guys were out of the country,” Ren grumbles beside me. “Or else I would’ve invited you.”
Richard raises his brows at his son, his expression amused. “I feel like we’ve heard this excuse before,” he pauses, turns to his wife and asks, “What was it last time, Sylvie? Some big award of something?”
“Oh, you two give it a rest,” Sylvie says as she steps toward me then hesitates as she asks, “May I hug you? Is hugging okay?” she turns back to Ren, “I should’ve asked this before, since now all I’ve done is make it awkward.”
I giggle, genuinely entertained. “I’m not a super hugger, but I’m good with hugs on special occasions.”
Sylvie’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m the same.”
She doesn’t wait for any additional invitation, immediately closes the distance between us and wraps both her arms around my shoulders. She’s not an overly tall woman, but she has the hug strength of a giant. And I love it.
Leaning into her I mirror her position, giving her a little squeeze. She sighs, leans her head toward mine so our cheeks are touching. She smells like peonies and cinnamon, an odd combination I never would’ve considered appealing, but for her, it works.
